The Quartered Sea (15 page)

Standing in the very spot on the aft deck where Queen Jelena had stood, Benedikt tossed the next piece of the chanty down to the crew. "We follow aught but dreams alone."

"Heave, hard o're, heave ho. Heave ho, on we go." The great square belled out, lines tightened. "Heave, hard o're, heave ho."

"Mains'il secured, Captain." With the ease of long practice, the mate's voice inserted itself into the rhythm of the chanty.

"Heave ho, on we go. Heave, hard o're, heave ho."

"I can't say I'm not glad to see them go," Otavas murmured, watching Jelena who was still watching the empty horizon. "Perhaps now, things will get back to normal."

"I hope so, Highness." Bannon forced himself to watch the crowds and not the same horizon as the queen.
I slaughtering hope so
.

"Actually, we'll be near familiar shores for a while." The captain leaned back so Benedikt could see her finger trace their route on the map. "We'll run south before the prevailing northerlies, keeping to the western trade routes as far south as the Astobilies. If this wind stays with us…" She traced the sign of the Circle on her breast. "… that should take no more than six, seven days. We'll refill our water casks, take on fresh stores, and start west from there. First-quarter winds by the Astobilies blow from the east and the ocean around them is as calm as a millpond. Northern waters are dark and cold and the winds cruel and fickle. There's no reason I know of suggesting we can't sail into the unknown in comfort."

She looked up at the bard and smiled, the skin at the corners of her eyes folding into deep creases. "Doesn't sound much like an adventure, does it?"

Benedikt sputtered, aghast at having his thoughts read so easily.

"There'll be adventure enough before we're finished, lad." The captain lightly tapped the paper where figures of giant kigh rose out of an empty sea. "I promise you, you'll come home with songs enough for a dozen bards, and you'll see and hear plenty to enthrall the queen." She paused, stared past Benedikt for a moment, then brought her attention back to the young bard. "I want your word that while you're on board this ship, you'll not Sing the kigh without my express permission."

"But…"

"No buts. No exceptions. When it comes to matters between this ship and the sea, I must be the final arbitrator. A ship must have only one Captain."

"I would never…" he began, recognized her expression for what it was and realized she would accept only one answer. "I give you my word."

"I should think not," the carpenter snorted. "Fishin' boats stink of fish. Comparin' my grand lady here to one of them runts is like comparin', uh…"

"Artur's snoring to a song?"

She snickered approvingly. "Aye, you've got it."

Artur's snoring had kept most of the crew awake two nights running. It was the only flat note in
Starfarer's
melody. The morning of the third day, three of the company had held him down while the cook forced him to snort a spoonful of brandy up each nostril. Benedikt had no idea if the cure worked or if Artur stayed awake lest it be tried again, but the snoring stopped.

He hadn't expected just how different
Starfarer
would be from a fishing boat. He'd known she'd be much larger than anything that had ever sailed out of his village but that was only the most obvious of the differences.

Fisherfolk, even those, like his brothers, who fished the deep water, navigated by dead reckoning. The
Starfarer
found her way by compass. An invention of the Fienians, it was set on a brass pillar on the aft deck and minded by the officer of the watch.

"I've no idea how the unenclosed thing works," the mate admitted scratching his beard. "But it does. This bit here that always points north, it's mounted on a gimbal so it swings with the motion of the ship. Those thirty-two points on that circular card it swings over; they tells us what way we're headed." After a moment, staring down into the binnacle, he shook his head. "I guess I do know how it works, but I'll be unenclosed if I could tell you why. It was Her Majesty's idea to install it; she's got a right mechanical turn of mind."

Too big to be steered by a single sweep,
Starfarer's
rudder was controlled from a tiller in the aft castle. While this offered the helmsman welcome protection from the elements, he could see very little and had to be conned by the officer of the deck.

"Through this?" Standing by the helm, Benedikt peered up through the brass tube that led to the deck above.

"Oh, aye." Leaning on the heavy tiller, Janina watched the bard indulgently as he poked about. "You'd be amazed at how loud sound comes through. Mind you, once you know what's what, you can keep a steady course by the feel of the helm. Here." Adjusting her grip, she straightened, moving her body back away from the wood. "You have a go."

"Just tuck yer butt in here. Aye, that's it. Now wrap yer arm around like mine. Put yer weight back on yer heels like. If you have to turn her, you'll want to be using yer whole body." Releasing the tiller, Janina moved only far enough to allow him her old position—still close enough for body heat to warm the air between them. "You've a nice lot of muscles for a bard."

"We do a lot of walking," Benedikt told her absently, distracted by the song of the sea resonating in the tiller. He felt as though
Starfarer
was his instrument and he could play whole concerts on her with the slightest movement.

"Walking?" She leaned back and looked down. "Aye, that's nice, too, but I was talking of yer back and arms." The sleeve of his shirt compacted under her fingers. "If there was something else you might like to try out later like, I'm willing."

Her touch got through where her words might've been lost. "Uh, thanks, but…" He indicated she should take back the tiller. When she did, he stepped away and faced her. He'd studied the ship's roll back in Elbasan. Janina was two years older than he was, unjoined, no children. The entry hadn't mentioned the dusting of golden freckles across all exposed skin, eyes almost turquoise, and hair that seemed to ignite in the sun. Nor did it mention the breadth of her shoulders and hips and the deep round bells of her breasts. Suddenly afraid he was staring, he took another step away and spread his arms. "Where?" he asked hoping she'd recognize a request for information not an oblique acceptance.

Janina laughed. "I forgot this was yer first time out. Well, there's no real privacy that's for sure but there's places less public than others."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but…" He shook away a disturbing vision of performing in front of the crew. "…I couldn't."

"Don't fret. I'm not insulted. It takes time before you get used to living in each other's breeches." She winked. Explicitly. "But when you are used to it, the offer stands."

It wasn't his last offer, but he couldn't shake the thought of watching eyes. He wasn't all that fond of
singing
in front of an audience—and that, at least, worked out well because sailors weren't all that fond of being sung to. They preferred, he discovered, to be sung with.

Under normal circumstances, he reacted badly to sarcasm, but on board ship the captain held rank equivalent to one of the ancient gods. "It's not that. I thought only the Centers Sang sunrise and sunset every day. I didn't know sailors were so religious."

"Religious?" The captain looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't say that, but when we're out too deep to anchor, on nights with cloud or without a moon, we sail blind. Sunset, we ask the Circle to enclose us. Sunrise, we give thanks that it did. Not religious." A half smile curved a long line around one side of her mouth. "Practical."

During the day, the crew taught Benedikt the Songs of the sea, frequently adding increasingly salacious verses to those commonly known. He'd never be able to sing any of them to the queen. In return, he spent his evenings making the connections that kept Shkoder strong, telling tales of the land and her people to an audience who'd never been away from the sea.

Almost within sight of the Astobilies,
Starfarer
ran into a calm. The sails hung limp from their yards and the heat baked the moisture from wood, rope, and flesh. By the afternoon of the third day, the captain finally allowed Benedikt to Sing the kigh.

"This is no riverboat," she warned him. "We're deeper keeled than anything you've ever had the kigh move." Watching the last sail lowered, Lija shook her head and wrapped one hand around the quartered Circle medallion she wore. "It's bad luck to Sing the kigh into the sails; it causes the wind to turn against you."

"That's not really relevant," Benedikt reminded her peevishly.

"It is if I say it is." She turned a warning glare toward him. "If the water kigh don't want to help, don't force them, don't plead with them. The sea's capricious enough, I don't need her actively irritated."

Benedikt's song called a glistening tumble of bodies to gather about the ship and by evening they'd moved
Starfarer
far enough for a freshening breeze to cause the sails to be raised again.

In the Astobilies, they filled the water casks yet again and took on barrels of pickled beef. Benedikt was not permitted ashore and for safety's sake the crew were forbidden to mention there was a bard on board. The only other bard ever to sail as far as the Astobilies had barely managed to escape the interest of the prince.

"I can protect myself," he muttered, not really wanting to go ashore until it had been denied him.

"Can you protect all my crew? And this ship?" the captain demanded. "And remember, you'll be the one who tells Her Majesty why we went no further."

Instead of exploring a strange, exotic port, Benedikt stayed on board, working on his recall of the voyage so far. Captain Lija had promised, as there were no other Shkoden ships in the area, she'd pass the sealed scroll to an Imperial ship heading north. He knew he should have been grateful for the time to prepare the recall and for the opportunity to send it to his queen, but for the three days
Starfarer
remained at anchor, the tides were the highest the Astobilies had ever known.

For the next ten days, the eastern trade winds blew steadily, and Benedikt savored every morning. He Sang a new song daily to the beauty of a dawn that kindled the clouds and tinted the sails a delicate rose. The sea was smooth and the air so fresh, every breath promised new beginnings. He grew to love the smell of the dew drying on the wooden decks, and as that faded, he happily replaced it with the scent rising from a cup of sah.

"Named for the sound the first Astobo made as he picked the dried bean up out of the sun and breathed in that intoxicating bouquet." Pjedic, the cook, matched action to words, bean dwarfed between a meaty thumb and forefinger. "Saaaah," he sighed as he exhaled. "This, I truly believe, is the fragrance at the center of the Circle."

"Why," Benedikt wondered, almost as entranced as the big man, "has no ship ever brought barrels of these beans back to Shkoder?"

"A few make it back, a precious few and for nearly the price of a bottle of brandy, those of us who note what ships are in harbor and know the ports they've visited can enter the haven of a select ale house in Dockside and remember mornings like these."

This was the first Benedikt had ever heard of
select
ale houses in Dockside. There were a couple that Bard's Hall warned their people not to enter alone, but somehow he didn't think those were the places Pjedic meant.

"You see, my friend the bard," the cook continued, "these precious beans travel oh so very badly. Time and moisture are their mortal enemies."